


The Twelve Months of Christmas

by CaptainLeBubbles



Series: Carol Verse [5]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-05 09:50:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16808266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLeBubbles/pseuds/CaptainLeBubbles
Summary: Twelve months is a long time, and people are not static by nature. Sportacus and Robbie grow together, and guide their kids in growing too.OrTwelve months in the life of LazyTown.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Merry December, y'all! Those of you who follow my blog have probably seen me wrestling with this, but I'm proud to say that I finally got it ready in time!
> 
> This is a direct sequel to my last LazyTown fanfic, A LazyTown Carol (or something), and eagle-eyed viewers will probably also notice that several of my other fics have been moved into the same verse. This one picks up right where the last one left off, but reading the first one is not necessary to reading this one.
> 
> This fic is comprised of twelve snapshots into the months between one Christmas and the next, one for each month. Updates on odd-days, so the Christmas chapter should fall on Christmas, unless my math is wrong.

-/-

Robbie manages to ride the new relationship high for three days before it becomes too much. He’s sitting in the park, and he’s been watching Sportacus throw snowballs with the kids and now they’re all gathered around him chattering all at once, and it just. Hits him.

He’s practically vibrating by the time the kids all run off home for lunch, but he prides himself in not snapping until they’re gone. He yells at Sportacus to leave him alone, and disappears to his lair, Sportacus too stunned to follow him.

He’s too tired, too wired, too completely overwhelmed to feel bad just yet. He will, he knows he will, but before that he needs to sleep.

-/-

Robbie locks down the bunker, and Sportacus worries. He doesn’t come out for a few days, and Sportacus frets. He misses New Year’s, misses the lazy new year doldrums, misses a week. Misses another.

Sportacus is beside himself, wondering if Robbie is okay, if Robbie is mad at him, if Robbie will give him the chance to make right whatever he did wrong. If he goes to the bunker, if Robbie will just talk to him.

A week into the new year, Sportacus gets a letter tube in the middle of the night. It’s on lavender paper that smells of cake frosting and says in big, calligraphied letters, “I’m Sorry”.

Sportacus is at the bunker in seconds.

-/-

“Robbie?” Sportacus drops down into the bunker and finds Robbie in his chair, curled around his pillow. He looks upset, and he refuses to look up to meet Sportacus’ eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I got overwhelmed and I- I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Sportacus moves over to where Robbie is sitting, kneeling beside him and resting a hand on the arm of the chair. Robbie chances a look over at him. “You’ve been here all alone this whole time just because of that?”

“What? No, I- I got an invitation to spend New Year’s in BusyCity with my brothers. I left a note on the door. You didn’t get it?”

“I didn’t come by, I figured you’d let me know when you were okay to talk again.”

“Oh. Well- I went to spend New Year’s with them and then I just sort of… stayed. I was afraid to come home and face you. I thought you’d be angry at me. I thought maybe you’d… not want to be with me anymore.”

He looks away again, and Sportacus moves closer, reaching out for his hand and resting the other on his shoulder.

“Robbie… look at me?” There’s a long, tense moment, but he finally does; Sportacus leans in and presses a kiss to the side of his head. “I like being with you. One speedbump isn’t going to change that.”

“But I yelled at you.”

“And you shouldn’t have,” Sportacus agrees. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to keep being with you. Robbie- I  _ like _ being with you. I’ve been very worried, while you were gone. And I didn’t like to think of you being lonely down here- obviously you weren’t, but I didn’t know that.”

“Oh.” Robbie moves the hand Sportacus is holding and laces their fingers together, and gives Sportacus a weak smile. “You’ll forgive me then?”

“Of course!” He smiles, and another kiss is forthcoming, before, “Robbie, I like being around you as much as you want, but if you need to be alone, all you have to do is tell me. Just say ‘Sportacus, I need to be alone,’ and I’ll leave you be. I won’t begrudge you, and I’ll make sure the kids understand that, too.” He leans in for a kiss and Robbie lets him, tightening his hold on Sportacus’s hand to pull him closer. Sportacus smiles, and pulls away, leaning his forehead against Robbie’s and smiling. “Don’t be afraid to tell me what you need, Robbie.”

“Well… all right then.”

And smiles, and pulls Sportacus into his lap so he can kiss him properly.

-/-


	2. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robbie has trouble just admitting that he likes people, but he's not fooling anyone.

-/-

Robbie gives it another couple of days before he emerges from his bunker, because the kids have been awfully quiet since he got back and he’s starting to get suspicious. He finds them in Pixel’s room, and when they see them they practically drag him inside with delighted shouts.

“Robbie Rotten!” Stephanie says sternly, hands on her hips in a remarkably Sportacus-like pose. “Where have you  _ been _ ? We’ve been worried!”

He raises an eyebrow. “I went to spend New Year’s with my brothers,” he says. “Is that  _ okay _ ? I didn’t realize I needed to ask _permission_.”

“You have brothers?”

“Yes?” He shrugs. “Why are you surprised? You’ve  _ met _ them.”

“I have?” Realization dawns. “You mean those three stooges who come work for you sometimes? I didn’t realize they were your brothers!”

“They look just like me.”

“...okay point.” Stephanie unfolds her arms. “But I didn’t mean  _ then _ , I meant the last couple days. Sportacus said you got home and then you still didn’t come out.”

“Oh. I didn’t want to?”

Sometimes Robbie feels like his life is a Jenga tower, and every time he interacts with the kids lately- for the past year or two, really- they pull another log out. Like now, when Stephanie actually looks  _ upset _ that he wouldn’t come running to tell the kids that he was home again.

He folds his own arms. “Don’t look at me like that, I don’t owe you an explanation for my movements.”

“I was just worried.” She sighs. “Anyway, what are you doing? If it’s a scheme to keep us inside, there’s no need. The snow’s piled too high and our families don’t want us playing outside while it’s this cold.”

“Well  _ good _ . Wouldn’t want you freezing into kidsicles or anything. That blue elf would be unbearable if that happened,”

“Aren’t you and Sportacus dating now?” Stingy asks. Robbie shrugs.

“Yes. So? Do you think that means he’s not still capable of driving me up the wall with his insistence on  _ caring _ about you brats and your safety?”

“My dad says you shouldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you can’t even stand an integral part of their personality,” Pixel says.

Robbie scoffs. “That does sound like something he’d say. But since my relationship is neither his nor your business, I’m going to ignore it. Besides,” he adds, when they look about to protest, “that kangaroo knew what he was getting into.”

“If you’re not here for a scheme, why are you here, then?” Trixie asks. “Did you just miss us that much while you were gone?”

_ Yes _ , he thinks, and then waves an absent hand. “You’ve been quiet the past few days. I was making sure you hadn’t died or anything.”

“We’ve been trying to find inside activities while it’s so cold,” Stephanie explains. “But there’s only so much we can do before we start getting antsy. What do you do when you’re stuck inside for a long time?”

“Stuck?” He gives her a baffled look, trying to decipher her meaning- ah, yes, of course. She wants  _ entertainment _ . He digs a pinky in his ear thoughtfully. “I never have trouble finding entertainment in my lair. There’s always a good infomercial on, and cake to be baked and eaten. What else is there?”

“What about all your machines?” Trixie points out, and Robbie swears he’s going to bar her from his lair one of these days. “You spend a  _ lot _ of time tinkering.”

“Usually because sticky pint-sized tantrums are happening in my chair,” he argues. “But yes, I do a lot of  _ inventing _ , not to mention that I also make disguises for future schemes.”

A ripple goes through the kids at that, and Stephanie perks up with a grin. “Sewing!” she says with a bounce. “Sewing sounds like a fun inside activity, and it’s so useful! Robbie, Robbie, will you teach us to sew? Please?”

Robbie’s eyes widen as he suddenly finds himself surrounded by five pairs of pleading eyes, all taking up the cue to beg him to teach them to sew. His Jenga tower wobbles, and then he can’t help a smug smile. It’ll be something that  _ he _ taught the kids, something they  _ wanted _ to learn. And who knows, maybe one of them will have the makings to become a master of disguise like him- not as good at him, of course, but none of them are tricksters so he definitely has the advantage. Still-

“All right, all right!” He tosses his hands up in surrender, and can't help the genuine smile from forming. “Stop begging, you’re embarrassing yourselves. Fine, if it will get you brats another hobby to keep you indoors and quiet, I’ll teach you to sew.”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be fair, Robbie, YOU didn't realize they were your brothers till afterward, and you actually knew you HAD brothers.


	3. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What better way to spend the day than ice skating with your boyfriend?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that clip of Sport spring cleaning on the airship and he's just a blur? It's like that.

-/-

Robbie’s plans for the day, when he woke up this morning, did not at any point include ice skating, but now here he is, being dragged around on the ice by a patient Sportacus, who had up until about ten minutes ago been a blue blur of motion.

That, of course, was before the kids turned up, and he turned it down a few dozen notches and invited Robbie to come skate with him.

(“I don’t even have skates,” Robbie had pointed out, and Sportacus had said, “Well that’s okay,” and held up his hand and called out, “Skates!”, prompting a heart attack from Robbie until the skates, blades safely encased, fell into his outstretched hands.)

“Aren’t you ever tired of holding back?” Robbie says suddenly, breaking Sportacus’s intense concentration on, apparently, the study of Robbie’s face. Sportacus frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“Well-” He shrugs, lets go of one of Sportacus’s hands so he can gesture around them. “You hold back for everyone. Me, the kids, the town- you only let go if there’s no one around.”

Sportacus shrugs, and takes Robbie’s hand back, pulling him closer so he's holding him lightly at the waist instead.

“Robbie, I hold back for a  _ reason _ . I don’t want the kids to see me doing something that comes naturally for  _ me _ and think they can copy it and get hurt.”

“I get  _ that _ . Doesn’t it annoy you, though?”  _ And what about me _ , he thinks, and bites back the words.

“Not really. I have my airship for when I need to let go, and it’s more fun to be around people when we’re on the same page.”

“You’re always slowing down for me,” Robbie blurts out, and regrets it. Sportacus just snorts.

“Naturally,” he says.  _ Naturally, he says _ . Like it’s as easy as breathing; like he’s not stifling an entire set of instincts just to be able to spend time dragging Robbie around on the ice. “Robbie.”

“ _ What _ ?”

“You’re a very stilling presence.”

“Sorry.” He shrugs helplessly, and refuses to meet Sportacus’s gaze. Sportacus isn’t having this, apparently; he lets go for Robbie’s waist so he can reach up and tilt Robbie’s head back.

“You misunderstand me, Robbie. I didn’t say you were  _ stifling _ , I said you were  _ stilling _ . You turn off parts of me that I struggle to keep under control. You give me an  _ anchor _ . I  _ like _ that about you.”

“Oh.” He shrugs again, and manages a weakly smug look. “Never thought I’d be taking ‘turn-off’ as a compliment.”

“Oh, well.” Now it’s Sportacus’s turn to shrug, far more blase than Robbie’s helpless up-and-down motions. “You’re a turn-on, too.”

He’s so  _ matter-of-fact _ about it. Robbie wants to shake him, to demand to know what all of that means, whether he’s gotten bored yet, how much longer before this thing falls apart- and instead he leans forward, letting Sportacus bear much of his weight. Sportacus lets out a startled laugh.

“Robbie?”

“I’m tired of standing. Take me back to shore.”

A giggle, and suddenly a pair of strong arms are lifting him up. “All right, Robbie. Whatever you want.”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robbie's face is a serious subject to study.


	4. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring is in the air. So is Sportacus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear some of these snapshots actually have plot and character development but I went into this fic with like three of them planned and the rest were just flying by the seat of my pants.

-/-

Spring is here, and with it, Sportacus’s insufferable energy levels are shooting through the roof. In the summer and fall and winter it’s possible to get him to sit down and relax, at least for a little while, but in the springtime, any attempt to hold him in place between sunrise and 8:o8 pm sends him almost vibrating across wherever he’s standing. When Robbie demands to know why, he just shrugs and says it’s the springtime in the air.

“So it’s an elf thing,” Robbie says, sprawling on his chair to watch Sportacus do mostly-naked pull-ups on one of the many pipes and bars that criss-cross his ceiling.

(His lair, thanks to his various modifications over the years, functions very well as a make-shift jungle gym. At least it gives Sportacus something to occupy himself with when he gets like this, though Robbie would be much happier if he were down here, curled up together against the light chill that permanently fills his home.)

“It’s an elf thing,” Sportacus confirms, and then flips upside down so he’s holding himself up with his arms, legs pointed straight out. It looks painful, but it lets him look down at Robbie. “Isn’t your compulsive tinkering a trickster thing?”

Robbie shrugs. “I don’t know. I never thought about it.” He twists around into a spine-cracking position, and Sportacus goes back to his pull-ups, upside down this time, because why not, apparently. “I’m not sure I’d call it compulsive, either.”

“I would.” Sportacus drops down from the ceiling and sits on the arm of the chair. It must be getting close to 8:o8, then. “You get up in the middle of the night mumbling about blueprints and I don’t think you even wake up to start drawing them. I asked you once, and you said you didn’t want to lose them. You weren’t even  _ awake _ , Robbie.”

Sleep-tinkering. That would explain the blueprints he finds on his worktable some mornings, as well as why he wakes up as tired as when he went to bed. He huffs, and works himself back into a normal position on the chair. “I suppose it could be a trickster thing. Though I don’t think my brothers do it.”

“Not all elves build up energy as quickly as I do, either,” Sportacus points out. “What about your cousin? The one who brought you up. Was he a compulsive tinker?”

“He’s a compulsive everything,” Robbie grouses. “But yes, he was good with machines. Some of my oldest work is built onto things he’d already built.”

“There, you see?” He slips down to settle into the chair with Robbie, and is immediately shoved into the floor. “Robbie?”

“ _ Shower _ ,” Robbie says insistently. “You’ve been doing pull-ups on my ceiling for an  _ hour _ . If you think you’re going to snuggle up to me when you haven’t even  _ showered _ -”

Sportacus laughs, and hops to his feet. “All right, Robbie!” He turns to head toward the little bathroom, fiddling with his shorts as he goes. Halfway across the room, he hesitates, and peeks behind him at Robbie. “Robbie, do you think you could come scrub my back for me?”

Robbie is halfway through preparing a retort about Sportacus surely being flexible enough to scrub his own back when his brain catches up with the suggestive look Sportacus is sending him. He scrambles to his feet to follow, all thoughts of how comfortable he is already snuggled in his chair gone from his mind.

-/-


	5. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was going to come up sooner or later.

-/-

With the world warming and the days lengthening, the kids are spending more and more time outside being noisy. Robbie, feeling thoroughly overwhelmed, retreats to his bunker for a full week in protest, only emerging once or twice late at night to assure Sportacus that he’s fine. The kids stick to the other end of town to do their playing, a surprisingly thoughtful gesture that leaves him feeling warm while he alternates between napping in his chair and tinkering with his various projects.

After a week, though, he’s starting to miss his kids-

_ The _ kids. He’s starting to miss  _ the _ kids.

-so he grabs the periscope and pops it up to see what they’re up to. It doesn’t take long to find them; they’re in the park, carrying baskets and blankets. A quick spy around confirms that it’s probably a picnic, but they’re also all dressed very nicely. And it looks like Trixie and Stingy are arguing about Stingy’s choice of outfit. He flips on the speakers to check.

“ _ Boys _ don’t wear  _ dresses _ , Stingy,” Trixie says irritably, and oh, they’re at that age, are they? Robbie sighs.

“ _ I _ wear what I  _ want _ to,” Stingy protests, and folds his arms and throws his nose in the air in a way that only he can manage. “I  _ like _ this dress. It brings out my eyes. Besides,” he adds, “Robbie is a boy, and he wears dresses all the time.”

“Yeah, for his  _ disguises _ .”

Oh dear. Sounds like someone needs to intervene. He points his periscope around- where’s Sportacus? That overgrown jumping bean ought to be jumping in about now, surely he’s noticed the kids arguing?

When Sportacus doesn’t seem forthcoming, Robbie sighs, and heads to one of his various chutes, the one that will spit him out next to the park. Looks like it’s up to him this time. Oh well.

-/-

“Robbie Rotten!” Ziggy and Stephanie shout when he appears, more out of habit than anything. Ziggy beelines toward him and gives his knees a sticky hug. “Did you want to come to our picnic too?”

“I’ll think about it. I actually came up here because I heard shouting. How do I make you stop?”

“Tell Trixie that  _ I _ am allowed to wear a dress to our fancy picnic if I  _ like _ ,” Stingy says, and Trixie shoots him a glare.

Robbie rolls his eyes. “Of course you’re allowed to wear a dress if you want,” he scoffs. “Why wouldn’t you be?”

“Because boys aren’t supposed to wear dresses!” Trixie insists, stomping her foot angrily. Robbie raises an eyebrow at her.

“Why not?”

“Well-” she starts, and then stops, looking baffled. “Well, because they’re  _ boys _ .”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a reason to  _ me _ .”

“Well it’s the only one I  _ have _ ,” she growls out, and then storms off. Robbie spares a look for the other kids.

“Are you all done shouting?" he asks, and they all nod.  “Right. I’m leaving, then.”

-/-

While the kids go back to setting up their picnic, Robbie heads off to find Trixie so he can talk to her more privately. He finds her in the laughingly-named ‘alley’, scribbling on a poster with her marker. He takes a seat on one of the many conveniently placed benches that populate LazyTown.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“ _ No _ .”

“All right, then.” He leans back, hands folded on his middle, and closes his eyes, waiting.

After several minutes- long enough that he’s in danger of genuinely falling asleep- she bursts out with, “There’s  _ lines _ .”

He doesn’t open his eyes, hums a question. He can hear her pacing angrily, hears her haul off and kick a wall on one round.

“There’s lines between what girls do and what boys do. There  _ have _ to be.”

“You do know that  _ I _ wear dresses all the time, right? Surely you’ve picked up on that?”

“For your  _ disguises _ ,” she protests again. He rolls his eyes.

“Kid, I don’t  _ have _ to choose those disguises. I could very easily choose different ones. And I never pick a disguise I don’t  _ enjoy _ wearing. Why would I? That’s no fun at all.”

“Well, yeah, I  _ gues _ s, but…” She trails off, kicks the wall again. “I mean, what’s the point, then? If girls and boys can do the same things then what’s the  _ point _ ? How are you supposed to know… you know, which one you are?”

Hmm. Not a question he’s ever considered. When he says nothing, Trixie stops pacing and comes over to sit beside him, leaning against his arm.

“I’m being stupid,” she says.

“Nah.”

“Yes I am! I shouldn’t have yelled at Stingy.” She sighs. “I should apologize. He probably hates me now.”

“I doubt it. If your friends haven’t managed to hate  _ me _ yet after all the stunts  _ I’ve _ pulled, one argument isn’t going to ruin the game for  _ you _ .”

“You think?”

“You kids were forgiving me when we weren’t even  _ friends _ .  _ You’ll _ be fine.”

“That’s true.” She grabs his arm and lifts it so she can drape it over her shoulder, leaning into his side instead. “Robbie, why did you go away for a week?”

“I… get overwhelmed, sometimes,” he admits. “And I need to be alone, and I need to be able to control any input I get. Sometimes I only need it for a few hours and sometimes I need it for ages.”

“So it’s not cause you stopped liking us?”

He snorts. “Who said I ever  _ started _ liking you?”

She giggles, and stands up. “Okay, okay, you keep telling yourself that,” and hurries off with a laugh when he makes a half-hearted swipe at her. 

Once she’s gone- presumably back to her friends- he leans back again, and closes his eyes. The picnic  _ does _ sound nice, but- well, they’re not that far away. He can always go join them later, if he feels up to it. He knows he’ll be welcomed.

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a tag on a post on my blog that says "Stingy is genderfluid and Ziggy just does whatever he fucking wants to" and I think about this daily.


	6. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dating your hero is a great motivation to flex your villainous muscles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a reference to Sick Day, and is the reason I added that one to the verse.

-/-

Robbie hasn’t really given up on villainy since he started dating Sportacus. There’s being friends or even boyfriends with your hero and then there’s giving up on your principals entirely. Besides, corrupting a pure paragon of virtue like his beautiful elf? There’s something extra deliciously villainous about that.

...not that there’s much corrupting to do. Sportacus is capable of some filth when he wants to be.

The plan isn’t one of Robbie’s best, but in his defense between Sportacus getting sick and then  _ him _ getting sick and  _ then _ half the kids getting sick, he’s not really at his best. Still, they can’t all be winners.

He sets out a bunch of hurdles, content in the knowledge that Sportacus will  _ never _ be able to resist them, and places the cage at the end, the door in just such a place that Sportacus will  _ have _ to land in it. And once he has, Robbie will drag him out of town and leave him there.

It’ll take him at least all day to walk back. He’ll get home just in time for a good night kiss before retreating to his flying death trap for the night.

Or anyway, that’s the plan. Robbie watches Sportacus bounce and flip over the hurdles- it’s disgusting how  _ easy _ he makes it look- and then bong! He lands right in the cage and is trapped.

“ _ Now _ I’ve got you!” Robbie says, gleefully rubbing his hands together while he looms over the captured elf.

Sportacus grins, and stands up so that he’s poked through the bars, leaning on them so he and Robbie are face to face. “You sure have,” he agrees. “I’m good and captured now. What’s next, Mr. Scary Villain Man?”

“Don’t patronize me,” Robbie says, and pouts when Sportacus leans in enough to steal a tiny kiss.

“I’m not. That was a really good trap you set.”

“Yes, well.” 

He’s blushing, he knows it, so he disguises that by turning away to gather up the hurdles. Behind him, Sportacus sits criss-cross in the cage and leans on one hand to watch him, fondness falling off of him every time Robbie peeks over.

Once he has the hurdles put away, he stalks over to loom again.

“You could at least  _ pretend _ to take this seriously.”

“Sorry, Robbie.” Sportacus giggles, then schools his face into a comically stern expression. He’s able to hold it up for a good four, maybe even five seconds before he starts giggling again. “I’m sorry, Robbie, I’m trying, you’re just so cute. I can’t help it.”

“Oh, made helpless by my masculine wiles, I see,” Robbie says, and Sportacus nods eagerly.

“Yes, absolutely! You’re so handsome and diabolical that I can’t even concentrate on stopping your dastardly plan. I’m too busy admiring you.”

“There  _ is _ a lot about me to admire,” Robbie agrees, and moves around to grab the front of the cage. “Just don’t get too distracted by my good looks to watch your fingers, I need to move the cage.”

“Oh, of course.” Sportacus grabs the bars and lifts himself up off the floor of the cage, legs held straight out in front of him. “Better?”

_ No _ , Robbie wants to say, because this position is doing beautiful things to all of Sportacus’s muscles, but he has a job to do, so he says nothing and pulls the cage forward a little. It’s actually quite a lightweight cage- he couldn’t collapse it and stick it in his pocket if it wasn’t- but it’s still hard to drag. 

He pauses and glances up at Sportacus again. Sportacus is giving him an adorably innocent look that means either he has no idea what he does to Robbie when he pulls these stunts, or he’s as diabolical as Robbie. It’s been years; Robbie still genuinely has no idea.

A few more inches. Robbie stops again. He’s just had a thought. He turns around and leans on the cage, and immediately Sportacus drops and stands up to face him again.

“Yes?”

“Something occurs to me.”

“Go on.”

“My original plan was to take you far out of town and leave you there.”

“That’s a good plan!” He seems so  _ genuine _ . Robbie should feel patronized; mostly he just feels pleased. “It’ll take me all day to walk back if you do that.”

“Yes, yes, that’s what I was thinking. But it occurs to me, that in order to  _ get _ you out of town, I have to take you there. And then I’ll have to walk back too.”

“We could walk back together. That would be nice.”

“Except for the walking part,” Robbie points out. “And I couldn’t trust you to bring my cage back with you.”

“Of course you could!” Sportacus says, and looks offended that Robbie would even  _ think _ he’d leave behind the cage that Robbie regularly traps him in.

“Yes, well, okay, maybe I  _ could _ . But! That’s all beside the point, the point being, that is  _ far _ too much work for me to put into this plan.”

“It does seem very high-effort for you.”

“I’m so glad you agree. So here’s my new plan.” He leans in close, and Sportacus mirrors the pose. Robbie grins. “My  _ new _ plan, I take you back to my lair and have my wicked way with you, and then you’ll be too distracted to go play your flippy kicky jumpy games with the kids.”

“Robbie, are you trying to seduce me as part of your scheme?”

“Yes. I’m a villain, remember?”

“True. Okay. I like that plan better.” He slips back through the bars and lets himself out of the cage door, which Robbie only just now realizes he forgot to lock.

“Do you mean you could have gotten out at any time?”

“Oh! Oops.” Sportacus giggles, and if he keeps giggling Robbie’s going to have a problem, namely that it’s hard to concentrate when he’s got a giggly elf on his hands. “I guess I was too distracted by your handsomeness to notice until just now.”

“What am I going to do with you?” Robbie says, and scoops an arm around Sportacus’s waist, spinning them both in a quick twirl that sends them teleporting down to the lair in a puff of mist.

-/-


	7. June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the first day of Summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter references the Father's Day oneshot I posted a few weeks ago (which was originally meant to be the June chapter).

-/-

The longest day of the year. The sun comes up far too early on the day of the Solstice, blasting through the front window of the airship and causing Sportacus to leap out of bed while Robbie just pulls the duvet up over his head with a groan. Robbie’s only consolation is that at least the days will be getting shorter now. He might even be allowed to sleep longer now.

(He always says these things as if he is ever  _ not _ allowed to do things. Contrary to his expectations, Sportacus has never once tried to change his habits. In fact, he’s remarkably considerate, taking the time to check with Robbie when the kids are going to be playing near his home and never commenting on his eating habits. He’s never tried to force Robbie to eat healthy or exercise or anything, and if Robbie is sleeping, he’s more likely to make sure there’s a soft pillow under his head and that he’s comfortable than try to make him develop a healthier sleep cycle.

“Well of course not,” Sportacus had said, when Robbie mentioned this. He’d rolled his eyes and given Robbie that fond look of his before planting his hands on his hips with a sigh. “I’m not here to make anyone do something they don’t want to do. What you do, is your decision. I  _ want _ you to be healthy, because I want you to be happy, but I don’t want you to do it because I’m making you do it, I want  _ you _ to  _ want _ to do it. And if you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

“And it doesn’t bother you that I’ll never  _ want _ to do any of those things?”

“A little,” Sportacus had admitted. “But that’s  _ my _ problem, not yours.”

The truth is, Robbie actually  _ has _ been settling into a more consistent sleep cycle, and actually sleeping as a result. Insomnia and sleep-tinkering both still keep him exhausted, but going to bed at night usually means getting to sleep, at least for a bit, and more often than not, he wakes up before noon. Amazing.)

By the time Robbie joins Sportacus and the kids on the ground, it’s nearly lunchtime, and they’re preparing a picnic lunch to take down to the beach to spend the first day of summer near the waves. In fact, Stephanie is halfway through writing a note to leave for him- the lesson of three years ago learned hard- so he doesn’t worry if he comes down and finds them all gone.

“Robbie, you made it!” Stephanie cheers, and sticks the note to his forehead with a laugh. He goes to bat her hand away, and then stops dead still, staring at her. She tilts her head to one side. “Robbie?”

“...Since when can you reach my forehead?”

“What?”

“You’re  _ nine _ ,” he says, a little insistently. “You’re-” He holds his hand about waist high. “-this tall, and you can’t reach my forehead.”

“I’m  _ twelve _ .” She giggles, and reaches up to to boop his forehead again. “And I can reach it just fine.”

“Since when are you  _ twelve _ ?”

More giggling. It’s like talking to Sportacus. “Robbie, you were at my  _ birthday party _ .”

“Well, yes, but…” he looks around, taking in the other kids. They’re  _ all _ taller than he remembers, except maybe Trixie, who he suspects got the short straw when it comes to height. Even Ziggy-  _ Ziggy _ , tiny little Ziggy, has grown. He blinks. “...huh.”

“Robbie?”

“No, it’s fine. I just… I guess I didn’t realize you kids were growing up.”

“We’re practically adults,” Pixel says. Robbie snorts.

“No.”

“Well we’re practically teenagers, anyway, and that’s practically the same thing.”

“No.”

“Are you coming to the beach with us?” Stephanie asks, interrupting what is sure to be an infuriating conversation to witness.

“Oh. Yes. All right. Let me pop down to the lair and grab my swimsuit.”

“Okay, Robbie, we’ll see you there!”

They head out, and Robbie waits till they’re out of sight to teleport down to the bunker, bypassing his chutes entirely. His swimsuit is already up in one of the disguise tubes; he changes into it with a twirl and, rather than leave, starts pacing.

A moment later, there’s a familiar clang, and Sportacus joins him.

“Robbie? Are you okay?”

He stops pacing. “Did you know about this?”

“About the kids getting older?” Sportacus raises an amused eyebrow. “Yes, I did notice. What with all the birthdays they kept having.”

“You  _ can’t _ tell me you’re  _ okay _ with this.”

“It’s not like I could have stopped it.”

“ _ Sportacus _ .” Robbie levels him with a  _ look _ . “Remember who you are talking to. Now start  _ over _ . Are you seriously doing okay with this?”

For a moment, Sportacus looks defiant, and then his shoulders slump. “I’m terrified,” he admits. “They’re about to be  _ teenagers _ .” He sighs. “I have to start… teaching them the hard lessons. I have to… grow up with them. And sooner or later-”

“-they’re going to start questioning your word.”

“They’re going to start rebelling.” He paces a little himself, wringing his hands together. “It’s not that I’m not  _ glad _ they’re growing up, obviously, and questioning authority is one of the lessons I  _ have _ to teach them, they have to know the difference between doing something because it’s right and doing something because they were told to. So- so it’s  _ good _ that they’ll start questioning. But, once they start questioning, that’s when they stop… needing me…”

“What- oh.” Robbie’s brow furrows. “That’s… I hadn’t thought of that.” Another pause, and, “Huh.”

“What?”

“...you really aren’t like him.”

“Like who?”

“Nothing. No one. Don’t worry about it. Come here.” He holds out his arms, and after a confused look, Sportacus steps gratefully into the embrace. Robbie gives him a squeeze. “Listen, those kids are always going to need you. Kids don’t stop needing their parents just because they get a little big for their britches.”

“I’m not their parent.”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m  _ not _ . I’m just Sportacus.”

“Uh huh. And uh, just to recap,  _ how _ many honorary Father’s Day cards did you get last week?”

“...five.”

“Hm, yes. For the record, I only got one. So don’t tell me you’re not their parent, because I have five pieces of construction paper that beg to differ.” He gives Sportacus another squeeze, and lets go. “Those kids are  _ always _ going to need you, Sportacus.”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Wait, you’re being awfully calm. Why are  _ you _ so upset about them growing up?”

“Are you kidding? Teenagers are  _ so _ annoying! Why would I want my kids to reach that age?” And then realizes what he just said, and clamps a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t say that!”

Sportacus grins at him, and now it’s his turn to grab Robbie and give him a squeeze. “You did, and I heard it. No take-backs!”

-/-


	8. July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secret's out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to post this yesterday! Whoops!

-/-

Sports days are a pain in the ass, even moreso because Stephanie had turned up at his door to invite him  _ personally _ to come judge their various games, and she’d plied her adorable wiles and flattered him and promised him there’d be concessions, and he’d agreed without quite realizing what was going on.

It’s a clever ploy, though, devious enough that it gets his own seal of approval. They know he’ll never play any of their loud jumpy flippy kicky ball games, but they also know he loves to be included, and will be far less likely to complain about the noise if they accommodate him.

Clever brats.

They’ve taken a break, all of them gathered around Robbie’s judging table to chatter about the proceedings thus far. He’s been trying to balance the winners so no one gets too many wins, while still being fair and not blatantly cheating, so all of them have some wins to brag about.

“Sportacus,” Stingy asks suddenly, after a hastily whispered argument with Pixel. “Sportacus, can I wear your hat for the next game?”

Sportacus and Robbie both give him baffled looks. True, Stingy asking for things that aren’t his just to have them isn’t unusual, but the way four other pairs of eyes are staring at Sportacus, waiting for his answer, makes Robbie wonder if there’s more going on than just Stingy being, well, stingy.

“Of course,” Sportacus says. “Though I don’t know why you want to, it’s all sweaty.”

“I just want to wear it for a little while,” Stingy assures him. “If it smells bad I’ll give it back, though.”

“All right.” Sportacus reaches up- there’s almost a suction in the air as the eyes are boring into him, waiting for  _ something _ \- he pulls his goggles down and tugs the hat off without any fanfare, passing it off to Stingy wordlessly.

Robbie is the only one who hears Trixie’s disappointed whisper of, “Damn, blond,” before Stephanie makes a noise, and, “Sportacus! Your  _ ears _ !”

“Yes?” Said ears are turning pink; he gives his head a self-conscious shake to let the blond curls plastered to his head loosen and fall around them. It’s too late, though. The kids have  _ seen _ .

“Your ears are  _ pointed _ ,” Stephanie says.

“Oh, well, you know.” He tugs at his hair. “It’s just… you know, how it is.”

“How  _ what _ is?” Trixie demands. “What, are you an  _ elf _ or something?”

“Yes?” His brow furrows. “Why are you all surprised?”

“Why are we  _ surprised _ ?” Trixie waves a hand at him. “Get a load of this guy! Oh, you know, one of our best friends of nearly  _ four years _ is an elf, no big deal!” Her hand falls. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I thought you already knew.”

He’s being so nonchalant, so casual, and there’s an air of confusion around him- Robbie wonders if he genuinely thought that, or if he’s just trying to de-escalate the big reveal, make it seem like less of a big deal.

“How would we know something like that?” Pixel demands. “I mean, it’s not like you broadcast it or anything.”

“I have a magic crystal, pull apples out of nowhere, and live in a floating magitek blimp,” Sportacus points out. “Also, Robbie calls me an elf about ten times a day.”

“He also calls you a kangaroo,” Stingy points out. “Should we be looking for a tail, too?”

“No, only some of the huldufolk have tails, my people don’t.”

It’s at least enough to get them to calm down- something about knowing that it gets weirder, after all. Of course, now that they know the truth about Sportacus, it’s only a matter of time before-

“Robbie Rotten!” Stephanie says suddenly, and Robbie feels another piece removed from the Jenga tower of his existence. All she says, though, is, “Did  _ you _ know about this?”

“You think I let him wear that hat to bed?” He scoffs, and folds his arms, relief hitting him like a tidal wave. “Of course I knew.”

“You’ve been calling him an elf for  _ years _ though,” Stingy points out. “How did you know?”

“Oh, you know, a giant magitek blimp appears in the sky, a guy jumps out of the clouds and shows off his magic crystal, it was a bit of a tip-off.” He shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, kid, I can read the signs more easily than you, I guess.”

The kids all fall silent, all processing this new information. After a few minutes, Ziggy tugs on Sportacus’s sleeve.

“Sportacus, does this mean you’re  _ not _ a superhero?”

“I told you kids before, I’m just a slightly  _ above average _ hero.”

“Slightly above average by elf standards or human ones?” Trixie asks, when Ziggy’s face falls.

“Well…” Sportacus trails off, and shrugs. “Elf standards.”

“So all the stuff you teach us,” and trust Trixie to be the one to start questioning first. “How much of that is real for humans, and how much is just true for elves?”

Sportacus’s face falls as well, and Robbie has seen enough. He scoffs.

“Look around you, kid,” he says, and good, now they’re paying attention to him, and not Sportacus. “You eat fruits and vegetables and drink water and exercise a lot, get regular sleep, and what happens?”

“...we feel good,” Trixie admits, while the others nod their agreement. “Way better than when we don’t do those things.”

“I’d say the results speak for themselves then, wouldn’t you?”

As they murmur the truth of that, a little embarrassed about their doubt, Sportacus adds, “I do  _ know _ what’s good for human children. I had to study the subject so I could get certified to be a hero and help people.”

“Wow! You actually  _ studied _ this stuff?”

Sportacus laughs, relieved to be closer to a subject he can handle. “I went to college. I have degrees in both nutrition and childhood development- you’re right, human needs and elf needs are  _ very _ different, and I didn’t want to accidentally hurt anyone under my watch by expecting you kids to need the things an elf child would need.”

“Like not eating sugar?” Ziggy asks, gesturing his point with a lollipop. Robbie snorts.

“That’s just a Sportacus thing, actually.”

“You kids understand about allergies, right?” Sportacus added. “I’m allergic to processed sugar. Just like Trixie is lactose intolerant and Robbie is allergic to two six o’clocks in one day.”

A laugh ripples through the kids. “Being allergic never stops  _ me _ ,” she boasts, to another laugh. “But I guess I get it.”

“Good!” Sportacus rubs his hands together. “Now, are we done resting? Because I thought today was Sports Day, and I want to get through the rest of the games you kids had planned.”

They agree, and hurry off to get ready, leaving Sportacus to sag against the table. Tension falls out of him as he does; Robbie reaches over and grabs his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“You all right?”

“How well did that go?”

“It went fine. Far better than I was expecting.”

“I probably shouldn’t have given into Stingy so easily.”

“If you hadn’t, they’d have come back with some elaborate plot,” Robbie says, and tells him about Trixie’s comment. Sportacus laughs.

“So they just wanted to know if what color my hair is? Why didn’t they just ask?”

Robbie shrugs, and then his eyes fall on the tips of Sportacus’s ears and he grins. Sportacus tugs at his hair again.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just nice to see them out in the open for a change.”

“Well…” He tugs at his hair, and then pushes it back with a shrug. “Maybe it won’t hurt anything.”

-/-


	9. August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's really hot, okay?

-/-

The heat is bad this year, temperatures shooting up to the point that Sportacus makes the kids promise not to play outside without an adult around, for their own safety.

(“In this kind of heat, it’s really easy for you to overdo it and get hurt. If you’re going to play outside, make sure there’s an adult nearby, drink plenty of water, and if you start to feel dizzy or unwell, come tell me or another adult.”

“Giving actual orders?” Robbie teases, but Sportacus just gives him a grim look.

“Letting them make their own decisions and mistakes is one thing; putting them in real danger is another.”

“You softie.” He rolls his eyes, and then on a more serious note, adds, “Make sure you take your own advice too. That elven metabolism of yours isn’t going to be doing you any favors in this kind of heat- the last thing I need is for you to keel over if I’m not the one that did it to you.”)

The lair, of course, is always cool, deep in its subterranean depths. Sportacus ends up retreating there more often than usual, and Robbie refuses to leave it at all unless he has to. Sportacus has a job to do; Robbie’s only job is to look after himself. Still, he wouldn’t be Robbie Rotten if he didn’t engage in a little mischief, even during a heatwave.

He’s got the ice cream stand up and running again, treating the kids to “all you can eat for a penny”. They’re seated around on the benches, sagging against the heat while they eat their frozen treats. None of them react when Sportacus drops out of the sky in front of them, beyond their usually cheery “Hi, Sportacus~”.

“Hey, kids!” he replies. “Beating the heat?”

“It’s too hot to do anything,” Ziggy complains, just as Robbie appears at Sportacus’s side with a bowl.

“Here, try this,” he says, and gets an amused look from the elf.

“Robbie, I know you like to phone your schemes in sometimes, but this seems a bit lazy even for you.”

“It’s not a scheme, just taste it, I need to make sure you can actually eat it.”

Another amused look, and Sportacus takes a small spoonful. There’s a hesitant moment, and his face lights up. “It’s good!” he says. “It’s not ice cream?”

Robbie rolls his eyes as Sportacus takes the bowl from him. “It’s sorbet, and I even found a sugar-free recipe. You can eat as many single bites of it as you like without any harm. I told you, I don’t want you keeling over if I’m not the reason for it.”

“Thank you, Robbie! That was really sweet of you.”

“ _ Sweet _ ?”

“I’ll have to be careful getting close to you now, I might have a sugar meltdown.”

There’s a collective groan from the kids. They look over to see the kids rolling their own eyes, and Sportacus, earlobes turning pink, switches subjects.

“So what do you kids have planned for today?”

“Nothing really,” Stephanie sighs. “It’s too  _ hot _ . But it’s also really  _ boring _ !”

Robbie ignores the conversation batting around them, mostly just the kids suggesting things to do before shooting them down, while he cleans up and locks down the ice cream stand. After about the thirtieth idea is deemed too movey, an idea hits him.

“Wait here- I’ll be right back.” He kicks up the lever for the chute next to the ice cream stand, and vanishes down into the depths of his lair. He can hear, muffled through the pipes, baffled conversation, and it follows him down into the bunker as he whips around, making preparations for his idea.

Halfway through said preparations, he stops, and stares around him.

“Wait,” he mutters. “What am I doing? I went up there to get the kids to lie around and be lazy, and now I’m making it  _ easier _ for them to play and be noisy? In my own  _ lair _ ? What’s gotten into me?”

He looks around, waiting for some answer to fall out of the sky, and in a way, it does: he can still hear the kids talking up above him, speculating about what Robbie has in mind.

“Some kind of plan to keep cool, I bet,” Ziggy says excitedly. “Maybe he’s bringing up the snowball machine! Ooh, ooh, or the rainy day maker!”

...which are both machines he’s made for previous schemes, and if this heatwave keeps on he’ll definitely be revisiting those. (Wait, what is he saying?) But this idea of his will work just as well, and since he’s already got everything set up he might as well. He pops back up the chute, reappearing just as Stingy speculates whether he’s planning to make an aquarium (now there’s an idea, he’ll have to keep that in mind for future schemes), and gestures at the lever.

“All right, who wants to come down to the lair?”

This gets an immediate cheer- barring Trixie, visiting the lair is a rare treat for the kids. Thanks to her regular visits, though, Trixie picks up on his plan immediately.

“Oh, I get it!” she says. “It’s always cool down in the bunker!”

“Right in one,” he says. “Who’s first?”

There’s only room for the kids to go single file down the chutes (another treat they’re almost never allowed to indulge in), and Sportacus goes last, giving Robbie a curious look as he’s sent careening down the narrow tube. Robbie gives them time to clear the landing zone before following, but as the chute spits him out he sees the kids still piled up on the mat: barely does he realize this than a shrill whine meets his ears, and his fall is stopped not by the mat or the pile of kids but by Sportacus, skidding into the middle of the pile and catching him before he lands on anyone.

His hand comes up around Sportacus’s neck to steady himself automatically, and he’s set down gently on the floor as the kids stand and look around.

“This looks like a ballroom,” Stephanie says.

“Correct!” he says, waving his arms in an expansive gesture that takes in the entire room, a portion of which has been sectioned off and hastily converted into a makeshift ballroom. “I thought I’d teach you kids some ballroom dancing while we’re down here.”

This statement is greeted by the kids’ delighted agreement that this sounds like  _ a lot _ of fun, and a happy noise from Sportacus that makes his heart flutter. (That happens a lot, actually. He should probably get it checked out.) He claps twice and a speaker drops down from the ceiling.

“I’m thinking we might go old-fashioned here,” he says. “Fourteenth century court dances sounds like a good lesson. Everyone pair up,” and after a quick headcount, adds, “Stephanie, you’re with me.”

“Why? What about Sportacus?”

“Sportacus can’t dance to save his life-” Sportacus folds his arms and pouts, and is ignored. “-and you’ve actually got the formal training to help me teach the others.”

“That makes sense,” Stephanie agrees, while the other kids pair off as well.

(“Here Ziggy, you can be my partner,” Pixel says kindly, while Stingy and Trixie give each other suspicious looks before taking each other’s hand.)

The hours pass like that, with Robbie teaching the kids one dance after another. Court dances are weird, but there’s an elegance in them that Robbie likes, and they’re low-impact, something the kids desperately need during the current heatwave.

(They’re also low-contact, at least the ones that Robbie chooses. Four out of five of his kids are hormonal pre-teens; he’s not going to teach them any dance that requires them to get too close to each other. He’ll save miming sex on the dance floor for himself and Sportacus, thank you, and the kids can leave room for the Mayor in the meantime.)

After the sun starts to dip down and the kids have to go home, Robbie finds himself swept up into a simple boxstep with Sportacus. He takes over the lead almost immediately, because he wasn’t kidding, Sportacus really doesn’t know much about dancing. Still, he knows enough to follow Robbie’s lead as they make a steady square around the impromptu ballroom.

“That was a good idea,” Sportacus says. “How did you think of it?”

“I figured physical activity would stop them from whining and ballroom dancing would keep them from shouting.”

“Oh, of course, it was a scheme.” His mustache twitches, Robbie suspects in disbelief. He pouts.

“Also, maybe I… really miss having someone to dance with.”

Now it’s Sportacus’s turn to pout. “You could always dance with me.”

“Even slow dancing?”

“Hmm…” Sportacus considers this a moment, and then without warning takes lead and spins Robbie around before dipping him low, Robbie held up only by Sportacus’s unshakeable strength. Sportacus leans close and touches his forehead to Robbie’s, eyes closed, and hums happily. “Robbie, I will always dance with you as slowly as you like.”

-/-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't read anything shippy into the choice of partners; my reasoning was that Pixel, as the eldest, would try to help Ziggy as the youngest, and that left Stingy and Trixie over.


	10. September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Costumery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to update day before yesterday so you guys get two updates today!

-/-

The kids have gotten pretty good at sewing since that day in January that Robbie sat them down and taught them to thread a needle; Stingy especially has taken to it like an elf to baseball. They’re all doing quite well though (and none of them have noticed the magic guiding their hands when they learn a new stitch), and it’s gotten to the point that they’re helping him with their costumes rather than leaving him all of the work.

(Robbie’s suggestion- as soon as they’d realized  _ just how much _ work went into their costumes, they’d suddenly had questions about how he was able to get things ready for them so quickly for his schemes. A quick redirect to his costume closet, along with a reminder that he had decades of practice on them, had assuaged their curiosity, but it’s only a matter of time before they start asking questions again. So he’s got them helping them make costumes ahead of time, any time he thinks of something he might one day need a costume for.)

(Sooner or later they’re going to start wondering why they never recognize his costumes when he’s wearing them, even though they’ve all been down to the bunker and seen the disguise tubes plenty of times by now. One day they’re going to notice the strings and wires behind all of his schemes. One day his glamours are going to  _ stop working on them _ . He’s not looking forward to that day.)

_ Today _ , though, all that happens is he’s interrupted from his afternoon cake by a knock at the hatch above him. He sighs, and ascends to find Ziggy rocking on his heels waiting for him.

“Hi, Robbie!” he chirps.

“Ziggy.” He’s still carrying his cake; he conjures a fork outside of Ziggy’s line of sight and offers it, and the plate. “Cake?”

“Oh, thanks, Robbie!” Ziggy happily helps himself to a few bites, and, “Robbie, will you help me make my Halloween costume?”

“Halloween isn’t until next month,” Robbie reminds him, resuming his attention on the other end of the cake. “Why do you want to start your costume now?”

“Because I want it to be really good! I wanna be a fairy princess, and I want a dress that changes color, and wings that really move!” He nods eagerly, bounces excitedly on his heels. “Will you help me, Robbie? Please?”

He gives Robbie his best doe-eyes, and Robbie really has gone soft because he doesn’t even  _ need _ to. He scrapes up the last of the cake and tosses the plate aside, banishing it before it hits the ground, and the pulls himself back into the hatch.

“All right, come on down, then. We’ll see what we can do.”

Ziggy gives a delighted shout and follows him down, looking around everywhere once they’re down below. Of all of the kids, he’s allowed in the bunker the least, and his eyes always drink in the whole place like he’s storing it up till the next time. Robbie leads him over to the catwalk, and presses a few keys to call up several disguises into the tubes. Both of his fairy costumes are pulled up, as well as a few dresses with various effects built into the skirts.

“Just so we’re clear,” he adds, “you did say princess, right? Not prince?”

“Right!” Ziggy nods eagerly, then frowns. “Is… is that okay?”

“I don’t see why not. Just wanted to make sure.” He gestures at the costumes. “Getting any ideas?”

-/-

“You sure know a lot about fairies,” Ziggy remarks an hour later, after they’ve finally managed to nail down a design sketch for his costume.

Robbie makes a noncommittal humming noise. “It pays to know these things when you live near elf-country,” he says. “The people of the hills are a hard folk to deal with, and humans who don’t learn about their good neighbors can wind up in very sticky situations.”

“Oh.” Ziggy goes silent, and, “Robbie, are you a fairy?”

And who would have thought it would be Ziggy to question first? Robbie snorts.

“I’m a bit tall to be a fairy, don’t you think?”

“Fairies don’t have to be small,” Ziggy pointed out. “And you can do magic. And sometimes you say ‘humans’ like you aren’t including yourself in that.  _ Are _ you a fairy?”

“Heh.” Robbie reaches over and scruffs his hair affectionately. “In the broadest sense, yes. Fairy is really just another generic term for the lords and ladies. But I’m not what  _ you _ think a fairy is.”

“What are you, then?”

“I’m a… trickster,” he says. “Let’s leave it at that, okay?”

Ziggy’s brow furrows. It reminds Robbie a little of Sportacus, the look on his face. “Is it… bad? What you are?”

Robbie’s face falls, and he forces it into a reassuring smile, scruffing Ziggy’s hair again. “It’s positively  _ Rotten _ , in fact.”

Ziggy giggles, and bats Robbie’s hands away. “Come on, Robbie. We know you’re not as bad as you pretend.”

“I’m not?” Robbie draws himself up, an offended hand pressed to his chest. “It’s slander like this that got me knocked off of the top ten villains’ list, you know.”

“Aww, you got knocked off top ten?” Ziggy pouts, genuinely upset for him, and the Jenga tower wobbles some more. These kids. He ruins their fun; they call him a softy. He schemes to destroy their hero, they invite him to play with them. He’s a villain, and they take pride in his success as much as if he was their hero. He scoffs, and flips Ziggy’s cape up over his head just because he can.

“Not by any fault of my own, of course. The whole system is rigged. Everyone cheats their way to the top- well, villains, you know? The guy at number one now got everywhere on his good looks and free puppies. How is  _ that _ villainous? ‘Criminally handsome’. Tch.”

“Well  _ I _ think you’re the number one villain in the world,” Ziggy says, freeing himself from his cape and crossing his arms matter-of-factly. “In fact, I’m gonna write to those villain people and tell them!”

“You do that,” Robbie says, amused. “Be sure to tell them that I, too, am criminally handsome.”

“Of course!” Ziggy bounces to his feet. “In fact, I’m gonna go do that right now! Bye Robbie!”

-/-


	11. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween is pretty much built into Robbie's dna.

-/-

Halloween is Robbie’s favorite holiday. In fact, he’d even go so far as to call it his top five favorite holidays, if Discount Candy Day didn’t come four times a year. It’s a holiday that was more-or-less made for him, a day when children dress up in costumes, gorge themselves on free candy, play pranks and cause mischief, and  _ want _ to get scared. What could possibly be better than all of those things, for a trickster such as himself?

The children have been working on their costumes all month. Along with Ziggy’s fairy princess costume, Stephanie has made a very convincing robot, Pixel is a dinosaur (he’s learned from Robbie’s mistakes and included eye-holes), Stingy is wearing an elaborately made suit of armor, and Trixie is wrapped in a black cloak with a few phantom touches from Robbie sewn in, a scary papier mache mask peeking out from the hood.

Robbie watches them hurry from house to house, laughing and shrieking and making general nuisances of themselves while their candy bags become heavier and heavier. He’s made some preparations of his own, he just needs them to come to the bunker at the end of the night.

They don’t disappoint. As the night is growing later and darker, deeper, colder, the kids make their way down the street that dead-ends at the billboard.  _ Showtime _ , Robbie thinks, and pulls the shadows in around them, bathing the world in shifting shades of darkness, nightmares lurking in every corner. The only light is the billboard, a lonely beacon in a grim pathway.

The children huddle closer together as they walk, their loud, delighted voices muffling to whispered assurances of their safety, growing fainter until they walk in total silence. They draw nearer to the billboard, and its warm, welcoming light, footsteps growing more wary, until they’re nearly at it-

-a relieved shout rips from them and they hurry forward, reaching out-

-the shadows at the base of the billboard begin to shape themselves, growing and merging until they make a vaguely humanoid shape with glowing red eyes and a wide, toothy smile that opens into the depths of the void, shadow deeper than shadow as it opens in a wide grin.

The kids freeze. Ziggy is pushed to the middle of the group; he buries his face in Pixel’s shoulder, peeking around him at the terror before them. The older kids are no better off, shaking down to their feet, and the figure leans down, looming over them as the shadows curl all around them, the world darkening further.

“ _ Boo _ ,” the shadow whispers, and the children scream.

It’s a good four or five minutes before the children calm down enough to come back, creeping back to where Robbie is bent double with laughter. The world has shifted while they fled, the shadows fleeing as the floodlights around the area come back on. Color and light have returned to the world and what was not apparent to them before now is: the wires, the mirrors, the papier mache shapes tucked away in the most shadowy areas.

This time when they reach the billboard, it’s apparent that the shadowy figure that scared them so much before is just Robbie in a cloak; he pushes back the hood and takes a seat on the billboard while they gather around him.

“That was  _ really _ scary,” Stephanie says, and she’s still shaking a little.

The others chime in their agreement. “I’ve never been so scared in my  _ life _ ,” Pixel says, hand over his heart, and Stingy adds, “I’m going to have nightmares about this for weeks!”

“ _ I _ wasn’t scared,” Trixie insists, folding her arms, but Robbie doesn’t miss how closely she’s sitting to him, or the fact that she’s trembling against him.

“ _ I _ was,” Ziggy says, and begins rummaging into his candy. “Robbie, did you put  _ all _ of this together  _ yourself _ ?”

“Most of it,” Robbie says, reaching over Ziggy’s shoulder to fish a candy bar out of his bucket. “I had a little help from that overgrown jumping bean, though.”

“Sportacus?!”

“Did someone call me?” calls a cheery voice, on cue, as Sportacus drops down from the top of the billboard to land behind them. They all shriek, and then start laughing in relief. Sportacus grins and takes a seat on the railing of the billboard with a laugh of his own, swinging his feet. “Did you kids have fun trick-or-treating?”

“We had  _ so _ much fun!” Trixie waves around her bag. “Check out this haul! Oh, hold on.” She opens her bag and rummages in it until she finds an apple. “Here, the Mayor was giving out sportscandy with the real candy. You can have mine.”

“Yech,” Robbie says. “Apples as a Halloween treat? Normally I’d say whoever does that should be taken out and shot, but unfortunately I actually  _ like _ Milford. I’ll settle for leaving a bag of shaving cream on his door instead.”

More laughter. The kids are still shaking a little, Robbie notices. He grabs a package of gummy candy from Pixel’s bag while he’s distracted offering Sportacus a box of raisins, and considers the situation.

“Robbie,” Stingy asks, “will you tell us a story?”

“A story? Hmm…” He taps his chin thoughtfully and looks around at them. They’ve been scared enough for the night, but he’s not above a good spooky story. Or maybe- something less scary. “I know… one story.”

“Is it scary?” Ziggy asks, scooching a little closer to Sportacus’s dangling legs.

“It’s-” He waves his hands around a little, trying to grasp the right words. “It’s a, a dark story. But it has a happy ending.”

They crowd closer, in anticipation this time. “Tell us! We wanna hear it!”

“All right, all right. Twist my arm why don’t you.” He gives them another moment while he draws the shadows around. This is the sort of story that needs to be told in the dark.

“ _ There are things that lurk in the darkest, deepest shadows of the world _ ,” he begins, and a shudder ripples through the children as they notice the press of darkness behind them. “Things built of fear, and despair, and malice. Things terrifying beyond your wildest imaginings. Things that make the creatures of your nightmares seem like day-old kittens, things that defy description. Think of the scariest thing you can think of, and then think of what it might fear, and you might come close.

These beings feed on fear. They  _ want _ you to be scared, and they’ll do everything to create that fear. They don’t care about  _ you _ , and  _ your _ feelings. Only their own, insatiable hunger. They feel no empathy. No kindness, no compassion.”

Another shiver ripples through the children. Robbie looks around at them all, waiting for the anticipation to rebuild, and continues.

“One of these creatures learned that the fear of children as far sweeter, far stronger, far more  _ pure _ than the fear of adults. He sought these children out, lurking in the shadows of their cupboards, beneath their beds, in the dark solitary places. He read their fears and recreated them, terrifying them and devouring that fear that tasted so  _ sweet _ .

But over time, something  _ happened _ that no one could have foreseen. The more the creature delved into the fears of the children, the more he realized that the monsters some of them feared could sometimes take a very  _ human _ shape.

The creature grew  _ angry _ . He had never known anger like this, this deep, raw burn in his soul that told him  _ protect, protect _ . He didn’t know what to do with it, and so it grew until he had consumed the entire town in shadow. And the children-”

He breaks off. Waits. It’s Stingy who takes the bait.

“What- what about the children?”

“He took them.”

A gasp. Above him, Sportacus is tense. Robbie continues.

“He took them away, away from their homes, from their very beds, and took them into the shadowy world where he dwelled. He wanted to keep them safe from the things they feared, and it was the only way he knew how. But the children were not meant to exist in this space, and they grew weak. But they were alive, and they were safe, so he kept them there, watching over them, guarding them from anyone who might hurt them- except himself.”

He stops again, and pulls the shadows in a little closer. The kids are shaking, huddling nearer to each other, and Ziggy is clutching one of Sportacus’s legs.

“That’s not… the end, is it?” Stephanie asks, voice uncharacteristically small. Robbie shakes his head.

“No.”

“What happened, then?”

“What always happens.” He shrugs vaguely. “A hero came. A man dressed in gold, like a sunbeam come to earth, a man who knew no fear. He walked into the shadowy world and found where the creature was keeping the children captive.”

“Did they fight?” Stingy asks.

“No.”

“Then how-?”

“The hero… Was a hero. His light was enough to weaken the creature’s power, to strengthen the children where they lay.” Robbie trails off, lets some of the shadows be pushed away. “The hero took the children back to the world of the living without needing to fight.”

There’s a long pause after he trails off, as the kids realize that the story is over. It passes over them like a wave, and the conversations starts.

“So… what about the kids that were afraid of human monsters, then?” Trixie demands. “The hero just took them  _ back _ there?”

“They couldn’t stay in the shadow world,” Stephanie says. “They weren’t safe there.”

“That’s a  _ terrible _ ending!” Trixie says, and when Ziggy makes a noise of protest, “Well I’m sorry, but it is! The creature loved those kids! Why couldn’t he find a way to protect them in other ways? The hero just handed them back over to the monsters! That’s  _ bullshit _ !”

“Language, Trixie,” Sportacus says gently, dropping down to kneel beside the kids. Trixie folds her arms and glares.

“But what about the  _ kids _ ?” Trixie demands, and Sportacus laughs.

“They were fine, Trixie. The hero kept them safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s what heroes do,” Sportacus assures them, and Robbie adds, when she looks mutinous, “It’s just a story, Puck.”

From there the rest of the children drive the subject in other directions, all of them more satisfied with the ending than Trixie, until it’s time for Sportacus to walk them home. When he returns, Robbie is still sitting in front of the billboard, staring blankly out into the dark town.

“Robbie?” Sportacus sits down beside him, and in the quiet shifts until he’s leaned against Robbie’s side, head on Robbie’s shoulder. “You left out part of the story.”

“Ah, of course.” He lets his head fall so it’s rested over Sportacus’s. “The hero saw the creature’s love for the children and fell in love with that spark of goodness. Love conquers all. Happily ever after.” In this position, it’s easy to twist his head just a little and press a kiss to the crown of Sportacus’s head, which gets a softly pleased hum from the elf. “I didn’t think they’d be interested in a love story on Halloween. Save if for Valentine’s Day.”

-/-


	12. November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven months is a long time.

-/-

It’s so cold in the bunker that there’s snow falling, so after building a snowman just for fun, Robbie retreats topside in search of warmth. From there he ends up spending the afternoon using the snowball machine to make a high-stakes obstacle course for the children, who take turns sledding down the hills trying to dodge the flurries coming at them.

(A year ago, he would have done this to try running Sportacus out of town. Now he’s just trying to keep the kids warm while they play outside.)

At one point, Sportacus drops down into the gaggle of kids and takes a snowball to the back of the head. He turns to look for the source just as Robbie launches another one, this one aiming lower, and gets smacked in the chest this time instead. He looks down at his snowy chest, then looks up at Robbie and their eyes meet-

-Robbie can see the familiar challenge in his eyes even from here. He reaches over without breaking eye contact and hits a few buttons on the machine, and the snowballs start flying faster and with far more frequency. Sportacus dives out of the way of the first volley, while the children scatter; Robbie registers somewhere in his periphery that the kids are all behind him before letting out a wicked laugh and turning the machine to full power.

-okay, so he hasn’t  _ tested _ full power, but Sportacus is in his element here and he’s laughing, and Robbie is determined to land at least a few hits on him. He’s sure it’ll be fine; he just cleaned out the innards and checked all the wiring just last week.

Robbie becomes aware that some kind of divide has happened with the kids. Trixie, Stingy, and Pixel are beside him at the machine, shovelling snow into the space the machine occupies, so it won’t have to search for more. A few yards away, Stephanie and Ziggy are on either side of the field, throwing various pieces of sports equipment at Sportacus in between volleys. Robbie can’t see how any of them are any sort of help- the snow splatters whatever it hits, and Sportacus is doing fine dodging- but they’re laughing and Sportacus is laughing and Robbie, he realizes, is also laughing, and it’s only a  _ little _ bit villainous.

As soon as he realizes this, he realizes something else: there’s a sputtering pop-pop-pop noise coming from the machine. He turns his attention to it, and there’s smoke pouring out of the sides.

_ Shit _ , he thinks, and he must say it out loud because Trixie cackles, “Language!” at him just as he grabs the three kids and half-runs, half-teleports behind the safety of the nearest wall. He hears the shrill whine of Sportacus’s crystal in the distance and trusts that he’s got Ziggy and Stephanie covered, and then the explosion happens. He yanks the kids down further behind the wall, takes the lack of noise from Sportacus’s crystal as a good sign, and waits.

They don’t have the wait long before the smoke starts fading and the debris settles into the snow. He lets go of the kids, who all seem fairly unshaken, and stands up to look around. On the other side, behind the other wall, Sportacus and the other two are doing the same.

“Everyone okay?” Sportacus calls, and Robbie calls out a vague affirmative. “What happened?”

“Overload, probably,” Robbie says, picking his way to the smoking shell of his snowball machine after giving the kids a stern order to  _ stay put _ . They listen for about a second before hurrying over to join him. Pixel is already scanning the remains. It’s kind of cute.

Sportacus and the other kids join them. Sportacus folds his arms. Robbie doesn’t miss the fact that he’s pouting. “It was fun while it lasted,” he says, and then gives the kids one of his usual sunbeam grins. “But it’s getting late anyway! Why don’t you kids go inside and warm up? The Mayor was making hot cider when I went by earlier~”

A cheer goes up and they hurry off, leaving Robbie and Sportacus behind. Robbie squats down to poke some more at the guts his lovely machine left behind, and says, almost conversationally, “By the way, it’s snowing down in the bunker.”

“We’re sleeping on the airship tonight, then?”

“Unless you plan on sleeping in with me in the morning and being my own personal space heater.” He makes a frustrated noise and stands, banishing the remains of his machine with an absent wave of one hand. He’ll fix it later, or not. “I’m happy with either.”

“We can sleep on the ship, it’s fine.” He grabs Robbie’s hand with his, and raises the other with a shout of, “Ladder!” It falls, and Robbie lets out a squeak when Sportacus grabs one of the rungs and scoops him close.

“I didn’t mean right  _ now _ ,” he says. “What about that cider at the Mayor’s? Don’t you want some?”

“I have something better on the ship,” Sportacus says, and, “Up!”

No matter how many times he does this, Robbie will never get used to the feeling of vertigo that comes with the ladder pulling them up. He would wave goodbye to his stomach on the ground, but that would involve looking, and he can’t bring himself to do that.

At least once they’re in the ship with the platform pulled he can pretend they’re safe. Sportacus lets him go gently and he steadies himself, and then sniffs the air. There’s a spicy, warm scent permeating the airship.

“Mulled wine?”

Sportacus gives an affirmative hum, and pulls him over to the, for lack of a better word, kitchen area, where the smell is coming from. “I got a care package from my family this morning,” he explains. “There was a bottle of elven wine and I thought it might be a nice treat.”

He takes a pair of mugs from two of his endless panels and ladals the wine up for them both before leading Robbie over to the space beside the flypod, which is the best place to sit and cuddle given the view afforded them, even if their legs are dangling.

(They’ve done this dozens of times in the past year, and haven’t fallen yet. Robbie is convinced it’s only a matter of time, which Sportacus takes as an invitation to put his arm around Robbie’s waist for the entirety of the time they’re sat there.)

“Have you ever had elven wine before?” Sportacus asks.

“Once.” Robbie takes a long sip, savoring the spicey sweetness. “I was about maybe twelve or thirteen, I think? My cousin stole a bottle from some rival of his and let me have a taste.” When Sportacus turns his head, not quickly enough to hide his grimace, Robbie gives him a playful poke. “Hey, none of that. I said he gave me a taste, not that he got me drunk.”

“Sorry.” He bumps his shoulder apologetically against Robbie’s, only narrowly avoiding a spill, and then gives him an apologetic headbutt over  _ that _ . Robbie laughs, and loops one long arm around him, at least partially to get him to hold still, and partially to make him easier to grab onto if they fall.

They grow silent for a little while after that, sipping their wine and looking out at the sun sinking behind the hills of LazyTown. The world is awash in white and grey, and a pang shoots through him at the sight.

“Do you ever get homesick?” he asks suddenly.

“Sometimes,” Sportacus admits. “It helps that I have you here.”

“Yeah?”

Sportacus nods and nuzzles against him. “Robbie mín,” he murmurs, and then drops down another language and mumbles something in elvish. Robbie can’t understand a word of it, but it sounds nice, so he lets Sportacus say whatever he needs to say into Robbie’s waistcoat. After a moment, he pulls away, and Robbie notices a flush climbing up his neck. Realization hits, and a grin threatens to crack his face in two.

“Are you  _ drunk _ ?”

“No!” The flush spreads more, and Robbie laughs and nuzzles him back. “I’m just a little tipsy? And I feel good. I like it here with you, watching the snow. What-?”

Because Robbie has just taken his hand and is pulling him back from the ledge. “Come on, you lightweight,” he says. “I can’t trust you to catch me when I inevitably fall from this deathtrap of yours if you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” Sportacus protests, but lets Robbie pull him back from the front of the ship. Their mugs are set aside on the table as they pass, and Robbie pulls him into a slow dance, pleased when the ship takes the cue and starts playing soft music. “What are you doing now?”

“You said you’d slow-dance with me whenever I wanted,” he says. “And I want to now.”

“Oh. All right, then.”

They settle into a slow dance- not even really dancing, preferring instead the middle school spring formal route as they sway from side to side.

“I love you,  Robbie mín,” Sportacus says after awhile, eyes planted firmly on Robbie’s sternum. Robbie slows to a standstill.

“Oh,” he says, voice pitched an octave higher than usual. He clears his throat. “You’ve, uh, never said that before.”

“That’s all you know,” Sportacus says, and suddenly Robbie realizes why he was blushing and what was being mumbled into his waistcoat. He can feel a flush prickling at his own neck and ears, and without warning leans in to capture Sportacus’s lips in a spicy-sweet kiss. He can’t say it himself- not yet- but when Sportacus returns the kiss with fervor he thinks maybe he can read between the lines anyway.

-/-


	13. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas.

-/-

Stephanie greets him with an excited hug when he goes to see the kids one morning. He’s scheming on his way there; there’s a blizzard warning, and that means the kids will need something that will keep them occupied indoors.

(He manages a half-hearted excuse to himself about making sure they stay quiet, but it rings hollow to him. The past year has changed him, he thinks, though in his rare moments of clarity he realizes he’s been far more than a year in the making. The truth, if he allows himself to be honest, is that he simply cares about the children and their happiness. He doesn’t want them getting  _ bored _ .

Of course, there is also his reputation, he hurriedly reminds himself. The children insist that he comes up with the best games, and he can’t go slacking off  _ now _ .

Or, he could, but he doesn’t  _ want _ to.

Which is really the crux of that change he’s been feeling.)

“Why are you so loud?” he demands, while she squeezes him hard enough to knock the wind out and even lifts his heels off the ground slightly. She beams up at him, completely unfazed by his gruffness. It’s no use being grumpy with these children anymore; he’s gone soft, and all of them know it.

“It’s nearly Christmas!” she says, giving him one last squeeze before she lets go of him. “Uncle Milford said he’d take me into BusyCity to get my Christmas shopping done.”

Oh, a day trip into the city. “But why are you so  _ loud _ ?” he asks again, because that doesn’t seem to warrant that level of excitement, and she laughs.

“Because my daddy will be in BusyCity that same day, and I’ll get to spend some time with him!”

“Oh.” Stephanie’s father. Robbie suppresses the sneer that threatens to curl his lip, and gives her a forced smile instead. He has  _ opinions _ about Stephanie’s father, or indeed any parent who would dump their child on family instead, but he doubts that Stephanie would like to hear any of those opinions. So he keeps them to himself. “I’m sure it will be a lovely visit.”

-/-

Christmas is his and Sportacus’s anniversary. Robbie has been eyeing the calendar warily for nearly a month now already, not quite sure of how they’re going to mark the day. Christmas is a holiday in itself, and any celebration of their own relationship will be swallowed up by it. But he wants to do  _ something _ .

He also has no idea what to get Sportacus for Christmas. None of his ideas really seem to work; the things he’s good at- baking, fabric arts, machinery- are not things that particularly work for his sweets-averse, single-outfit-owning, magitek wielding elf. He has money, but nothing he could buy seems viable.

The simple fact is, Sportacus is impossible to get presents for. He doesn’t  _ need _ anything, nor does he  _ want _ anything. He’s happy with what he has, would be happy with nothing, and will be happy with whatever Robbie gets him, which means Robbie has to work  _ extra _ hard to get him something he’ll  _ like _ .

(“You don’t have to give me anything,” Sportacus says, when Robbie tries just  _ asking _ him. It’s very unhelpful, and Robbie says as much, which just makes Sportacus giggle. “There’s nothing I really want or need. I’m sure whatever you give me will make me happy.”

“You are  _ very _ unhelpful,” Robbie repeats, so Sportacus kisses him until he forgets the subject.)

The book, of course, is a tradition. This far from home, both of them can appreciate it, and he knows that Sportacus is an avid reader and will likely enjoy something new to read. 

(Though he suspects his tome of silly comical short stories will be deeply out of place on Sportacus’s shelf, which is filled with discussions of the darkest parts of humanity. Still, he’s always enjoyed the stories himself, and he wants Sportacus to enjoy them too. That the tome is one of the few he owns that is well-loved will no doubt tell Sportacus everything he himself will be unable to.)

But he wants to get him something real, too. Something Sportacus will love.

“Maybe I should have started planning  _ last _ year,” he groans, and gets back to work on the kids’ gifts. At least  _ those _ are going well.

-/-

“My brothers are coming to visit for Christmas,” he tells Sportacus, and Stephanie because she’s there, she and Sportacus having just finished their usual morning run and come in out of the cold for cocoa and hot muffins and- in Sportacus’ case- water and an orange, carefully peeled because it’s honestly unsettling when he eats that part by accident and doesn’t even notice.

“That’s great!” Sportacus says. “Christmas is a good time to spend with family, you know.” And gives a little pout. “It’s too bad I can’t invite my own brother to visit. I’m sure he’d love to meet everyone, but he has a village of his own to spend Christmas with.”

“Is your brother like you, Sportacus?” Stephanie asks.

“More or less!” He ruffles her hair. “But everyone says I’m the laid back one of the family.”

“Which is honestly a terrifying thought,” Robbie adds, folding his arms. “Can you imagine having someone who makes  _ Sportacus _ seem mellow?”

Stephanie giggles. “It’s exhausting just thinking about it!”

“Still,” Sportacus says, a fond little smile on his face, not put off by his boyfriend and protege ganging up on him. “It would be nice to see him. And I’m sure he’d love to meet everyone.”

-/-

Robbie goes home not long after that. The only reason he’s even up at such an inhumane hour is because his brothers have terrible timing  _ and _ terrible aim when it comes to letters. Being woken from a comfortable sleep by his boyfriend crawling out of bed to go  _ run _ , followed by getting an origami frog to the face, is not his ideal way to start the day, thank you.

His mind is buzzing for the whole walk home, thinking about Sportacus and family and his brothers and the fact that it’s been years since Sportacus saw his brother and by the time he drops down into his chair, there’s an idea humming in him. He grabs the nearest piece of stationary to hand and scribbles down a quick note to his brothers, then folds it into an origami spider and sends it away.

He waits ten, twelve seconds before he hears the familiar clanging in his chutes and then leaps out of his chair just as three familiar pinstriped figures land in it. They bounce up, and he’s about to complain about them taking too long to get here when all three pounce him at once.

“Robbie!” Tobby exclaims cheerfully. “Couldn’t wait till Christmas to see us?”

He allows the hugs a few seconds before shoving the boys away. “All right, all right! Actually, I have a job for you. You do work in the North Pole sometimes, right?”

“Yeah!” Bobby grins, while the other two nod. “We’re like  _ this _ with the fat man.” He crosses his fingers, and the other two mimic the motion. “Why? You twying to get on the nice list at the last minute?”

“No, nothing like that. I just need you to find someone and deliver a message for me.”

-/-

Christmas comes nearer, sneaking from one cover to another until, without quite realizing, it is looming right over them. Robbie has no idea if his message arrived at its destination, since his brothers are inundated with party gigs this time of year and he hasn’t heard from them since that day. So, he may or may not have a gift for Sportacus for Christmas, which is fine, because who needs to give their boyfriend a perfect gift for Christmas which also happens to be their first anniversary?

So he’s absolutely  _ not _ panicking but it is a deliberate lack of panicking rather than a genuine one.

He‘s ruining his reputation for laziness this year, between fretting over whether Sportacus’s gift will arrive and trying to get his home ready for the two nights he’s hosting his brothers (he definitely has a guest mattress around here  _ somewhere _ ), and finishing the children’s gifts, and preparations for Christmas dinner, which he has (probably unwisely) volunteered to cook again this year, on the grounds that  _ someone _ has to make sure they don’t just load up on fruits and vegetables and call it a day. Where’s Pablo when you need him, he thinks, and then remembers that he doesn’t like Pablo and banishes that thought to the same bin the onion peels are being unsuccessfully swept into.

Halfway through making stuffing, Sportacus drops down into the bunker, wearing the familiar flush that says he’s just been outside playing. He comes over to lean on the counter and swipes some of the celery Robbie is using, nibbling it like candy while he watches Robbie work.

“Ready for Christmas, Robbie?”

“I’m ready to be done with all of this,” he grouses. “Next year if I try to volunteer to cook, hold me down until I come to my senses.”

“It did seem very out of character for you,” Sportacus teases. He grabs some onions from the bowl to one side, but Robbie smacks his hand with his mixing spoon when he sees him.

“Hands off. If you think you’re going to eat onions and then kiss me with onion breath-”

“I’ll brush my teeth first!” He grins wickedly at Robbie. “Why did you volunteer, then?”

“Because I’m apparently a masochist.” He rolls his eyes, and pulls the onions further away when Sportacus tries to sneak back to them. “And because… well… everyone has been really kind to me, far kinder than I deserve. I thought I should do something to show them that, whatever it might seem, I really do appreciate their kindness.” He makes a disgusted noise. “I really have gone soft.”

”I think you were soft all along.” Sportacus sniffs the air, hand sneaking to the onions again. “Something smells nice.”

“Oh!” Robbie drops the mixing spoon and dashes over to the stove, where several triangles of dough are frying in a pan of fat. He scoops them out and leaves them to drain, and then startles when he turns to go back to his stuffing and finds Sportacus behind him, peeking around his shoulder. He has onion breath.

“Kleina?”

“They’re safe, I adapted the recipe so it doesn’t use sugar. I thought it might be a nice treat, since I’m cooking anyway. Don’t get used to it.”

“That’s what a treat  _ is _ ,” Sportacus points out. “Is it just for us? You didn’t make much.”

“I’m making more tomorrow, this is for tonight.” His ears burn red as he adds, “I thought… it might be nice to spend a little time with just the two of us, tonight.”

“I’d like that a lot,” Sportacus says, pulling him close and giving him a one-armed squeeze- wait, one armed..?

“Get out of that!” Robbie bats his hand away from the still-steaming kleina. “They still have to cool- you’re going to burn your fingers-!”

-/-

The fluffy orange chair is not big enough to fit two grown men trying to do their own thing, but that hasn’t stopped Sportacus and Robbie before. Robbie has his legs sprawled over Sportacus’s lap and the arm of the chair, curled around Sportacus’s side with his book propped half on the chair’s back, half on the top of Sportacus’s head as he bows it to read his own book, which is lying open on Robbie’s lap.

(He’d given Robbie a book of ghost stories from home, written in their own shared language, and if Robbie keeps thinking about how much fun he’s going to have scaring the children with these stories, well, it’s no secret anymore, how soft he’s gone.)

The empty kleina plate sits to one side; Christmas dinner is prepared and ready to be cooked in the morning, to be taken to city hall that afternoon to join the others. Their stockings have been hung just outside beside the hatch, so Santa won’t have to fight his way down into the bunker. It’s a quiet, peaceful night.

Robbie’s eyes close, his head nods a little. He could easily fall asleep soon, he should find a more comfortable position to read in.

He should-

He should…

-/-

Robbie awakes the next morning to clangs and shouts in the chutes above. He’s wrapped in a blanket, he and Sportacus burritoed together in the chair- Sportacus must have tucked him in after he fell asleep, judging by the blankets and pillows and the bookmark sticking out of his book on the table.

“Your brothers are here,” Sportacus mumbles into his neck without opening his eyes, needlessly as the three have just landed in a pile on the guest mattress. It must be before sunup, Robbie thinks dimly, and carefully begins extracting himself from the burrito without waking Sportacus.

“It is very, very early in the morning,” Robbie protests, and then with a glance at Sportacus he herds the three over to the other end of the bunker, dropping his voice as he does. “Well? Did you do what I asked?”

“Of course we did,” Bobby says, tapping his hand to his chest pointedly. “It just took longer than we thought.”

“We’ve had a  _ lot _ of other jobs this month,” Tobby adds, to emphatic nodding from Flobby. The three pout in unison, and Robbie just rolls his eyes, unfazed.

“All right, all right. Come help me get this food cooking, it needs to be ready by lunchtime.”

“You’re the boss, big bro!”

Between the four of them, it doesn’t take long to get the food on cooking, and by the time they’re finished Sportacus is awake and doing his morning stretches so he can go topside for his usual early morning run. Robbie waits until he’s gone, and then rounds on Bobby.

“All right, gimme gimme gimme.”

He makes grabby fingers, and Bobby hurriedly hands over the envelope tucked away inside his waistcoat. It’s sealed, but it’s clearly addressed to Sportacus in the same handwriting Robbie recognizes from some of the care packages he occasionally gets from his family, so Robbie takes that as a good sign and does a happy dance around the kitchen, crowing with delight.

“This is going to be the best Christmas present Sportacus has ever gotten!”

-/-

Sportacus arrives in time to get everything moved to city hall, and between his brothers and Sportacus, Robbie doesn’t have to carry anything. He alternates between standing off to one side overseeing, and darting in to give unnecessary instructions and get in the way, while they load up the dumbwaiter, the only chute Robbie has that won’t jostle everything when it takes it up.

They’re setting everything up when everyone else arrives. The kids give a delighted shout and hurl themselves at the boys; Robbie isn’t entirely sure  _ when _ his brothers bonded with his kids, but judging by how happy the two groups are to see each other, it must have happened at some point.

“Dinner looks  _ really _ good, Robbie!” Stephanie says, and, “Do you need any more help setting up?”

“No, I think we’ve got it.” He hip-checks her affectionately, sending her off to rejoin her friends, and judging by her face, she doesn’t miss the fact that he still hasn’t done any of the actual work. He turns back to the table and the Mayor is there, now.

“Do I smell kleina?” he asks, sniffing over the table. “Oh, it’s been  _ years _ . You know, Robbie, when you volunteered to make dinner yourself this year I was worried you were taking on too much. But you’ve done a wonderful job.”

Robbie preens a little, feels a momentary flash to his childhood, when Milford was the only one of the children to ever notice his efforts, or praise him for a job well done. He wonders what that little boy would think to see who he’d become. A contributing member of society- ha! Who would have imagined?

Well. Milford might have.

He’s struck by a sudden burst of fondness for the well-meaning mayor, and sneaks a pastry out of the covered tray that holds the kleina.

“Here,” he says. “Don’t tell Sportacus, he’ll try to have it off of you.”

-/-

It is, eventually, time for dinner. The kids come running, having worked up an appetite playing with the various gifts they’d been given that morning by their families. Unlike the last two years, Robbie is placed next to Sportacus, who finds his hand under the table and gives him a fond smile while the Mayor says a few words of welcome and thanks before encouraging everyone to dig in.

“This is my favorite Christmas ever,” Ziggy says at one point. 

Under the table, Sportacus’s knee bumps against Robbies, in a way that can’t be an accident. He clasps his hands in front of him. “Why is that, Ziggy?”

“Because this is the first year Robbie just  _ came _ to Christmas dinner with us. Remember? Last year we thought he wouldn’t come, and the year before that he overslept and we had to go get him, and the year before  _ that _ he thought he had to pull one of his schemes when we just wanted him to join us. And this year! You’re just  _ here _ . Everyone is here. That makes it the best Christmas we’ve ever had!”

Sportacus grins, and Robbie  _ doesn’t _ get weepy but he does feel the Jenga tower wobble some more. He presses his napkin to his lips to disguise the soppy smile threatening, and gives Ziggy a stern look that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It’s not that impressive. Just part of my long-term plan to get you all to let your guards down so I can swoop in unnoticed. I’m just waiting for all of that complacency to kick in before I get to stage two.”

“Oh.” Ziggy considers this, and nods. “All right! I’ll just have to make sure I never ever ever let my guard down, and then you’ll have to just keep on being our friend forever!”

Sportacus chokes on a laugh that he hastily hides behind his own napkin, and Robbie’s eyebrows shoot up before lowering. He gives Ziggy a suspicious look.

“You know what, kid? You’re really very devious sometimes.”

“Well, I learned from the best, after all.”

-/-

Dinner is done, and the boys have cleared away some of the excess dishes, and now it’s time to hand out the presents. Sportacus and the Mayor get to passing them out, while Robbie considers the cake the children made and whether he wants another slice. He isn’t sure what to expect; probably the children got him something, but that will be among the last handed out either way. And he and Sportacus already exchanged their gifts last night, or, well, the available gifts.

In the end, there’s two packages set in front of his tray: one from Santa, a small box containing gears and other odds and ends machine parts that will actually be useful to him, and the other, a much larger package from the children. He spends a moment poking it curiously- it’s soft, and the wrapping paper crinkles as it gives.

“What in the world could this be?” he wonders, and pokes enough for his finger to go through. He peels back a large flap of wrapping paper and finds himself staring down at a colorful block of fabric. More wrapping paper is ripped aside, until he’s sitting with a large quilt in his lap. He stares at it. “What is…?”

“It’s a quilt!” Ziggy says excitedly, bouncing a little before launching himself into Robbie’s side. The other children look up happily and come to join him, leaning over and around him.

“We all made it together,” Stingy adds. “Since you taught us to sew, we thought you might like it if we sewed something for you.”

“And Trixie says it stays so cold in the bunker, and you like sleeping, so we thought a quilt might do the trick,” Pixel puts in.

“Do you like it?” Stephanie asks in a small voice, watching his face closely.

There’s a wobble, and Robbie feels the Jenga tower crash into the ground. The quilt in his hands is not expertly made- his practiced eye can see mistakes everywhere, and it won’t be long before he’ll be stuck making careful repairs to the quilt to keep it in one piece. But just as he can see the mistakes, he can also the amount of work the kids have put in, the time they’ve dedicated to- to what? To giving him something to keep him warm? To keep him comfortable? To show him how much they appreciate his help? To show him how much they-

...how much they…

The world has gone blurry, and Robbie is acutely aware of the fact that he is about to start crying in front of everyone, and this is not something he is willing to do. He glances around, can’t see an easy escape route anywhere-

-and vanishes.

-/-

He doesn’t go far. It’s not that he’s running away, not really, he just needs to be somewhere he can pull himself back together. He winds up on the bench outside, staring down at the snow falling to the ground, clutching his beautiful new quilt to his chest.

He’s not surprised a few minutes later to hear the careful crunch of snow behind him, and turns to see Sportacus approaching.

“Robbie?”

“I’m okay,” he says. “I just needed a moment.”

“Can I sit?” Sportacus asks, and Robbie gestures at the bench beside him. Sportacus brushes some snow off of it and takes the offered seat, and reaches over to touch Robbie’s arm. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I, um.” He lays the quilt down on his lap, and points to one of the squares. “Ziggy did this one,” he says. “His stitches tend to be uneven- but if you look, here-“ He traces up the line of stitches. “See, they’re getting more even. Not perfect, but better. And- look, this one is Trixie’s. See how the stitches change about halfway up? She’s really  _ bad _ at maintaining consistency. But, but you can see- right here- there are places she’s pulled the stitches out to fix them. And this-“

He carries on like this for a few more minutes, pointing out the flaws in the kids’ work, and how he can tell whose hand did what, and mapping the improvements they’ve made over time. Sportacus watches him, face soft while he nods along, and when Robbie finally fizzles out and clutches the quilt tight again, Sportacus reaches over to rest a hand over his, turning so that he and Robbie are face to face.

“They worked hard on it,” he says. “For you.”

“For me,” Robbie repeats. “Sportacus, I-“ He takes a shuddery breath. “I’m not- I don’t know how to  _ deal _ with this sort of thing.”

“With what sort of thing?”

“With- with-“ He gestures vaguely with the quilt. “With people who- do these sorts of things.” When Sportacus still looks confused, he adds, softly, “With being  _ loved _ .”

“Oh. Oh Robbie min.” Sportacus shifts around so he’s kneeling in the snow, pulls Robbie forward enough that he can rest their foreheads together. “Robbie, you are so,  _ so _ loved. The kids love you, your brothers love, the Mayor and Bessie love you.” A pause; he closes his eyes and smiles. “ _ I _ love you.”

“I know. I, I, I can’t  _ say _ it, but- but I- you know, right? I do.”

“I know.” Sportacus’s hand tightens around his own. “You don’t say it but you show it, and that’s more important anyway.”

They stay like that a moment, a glorious moment, while snow falls around them and world turns still.

-/-


	14. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to bookend the fic with Sport's pov on either end.

Epilogue

-/-

“Aw, come on, Robbie!” Trixie says, rolling her eyes. “The boogie man isn’t  _ real _ . That’s just a story made up by parents!”

“Are you very sure?” Robbie says, and draws himself up to his full height- the shadows press in, darkening the otherwise bright room, and Robbie’s own face is cased in shadow, his eyes glinting with malice, his teeth gleaming and seeming sharper than usual. He looms over Trixie, voice taking on a more guttural quality to it. “Are you  _ really _ sure about that?”

Trixie squeaks, but stands firm, fists clenched at her side. “All right, you’ve made your point!”

-and just like that, he’s Robbie again, slouching with his arms folded and a smug look on his face. He sniffs haughtily.

“Do you believe me now?”

“Well you didn’t have to scare the shit out of me to prove it!”

“ _ Language _ , Trixie,” Sportacus says wearily. He’s going to lose this battle with Trixie one day, but at least he can try. For now. Trixie waves him away- maybe he’ll lose it sooner than he thought.

“Anyway, how can you be a boogie man? The boogie man is supposed to do away with naughty children, not encourage them to  _ be _ naughty.”

Robbie rolls his eyes. “I don’t really have time to go in-depth to my cultural heritage with you brats, so just suffice to say that boogie men- or tricksters, as  _ we _ prefer to be called- don’t care one way or another how you behave. That part  _ is _ an invention of human parents.”

“So are you one of the Fae people?” Stephanie asks. “You know, like Sportacus?”

“Yes and no.” Robbie considers this. “Think of it like this. A  _ cat _ and a  _ dog _ are both mammals, correct?”

“Yes.”

“But a cat and a dog are not the same thing.”

“True.”

“It’s like that.”

He punctuates this statement with a flourish; Stephanie waits to see if more is forthcoming, and then nods.

“I.. think I get it?”

“Good!” Robbie claps his hands together and looks around. Sportacus can see the look in his eyes from here; he doesn’t need his crystal to tell him Robbie would very much like to not be having this conversation, so he moves over beside him.

“Excuse me, kids, I need to borrow my boyfriend for a few minutes.” He adds, because they’re looking mutinous, “It’s getting late. Your parents will be wanting you to come home soon. You should make sure all of your things are packed up. You don’t want to leave something behind.”

They groan, but Sportacus ignores that while he pulls Robbie into an out-of-sight corner. “How are you doing?”

“Teleporting in front of them was not my best idea ever,” he says. He leans forward and rests his head on Sportacus’s shoulder. “I guess they were going to find out sooner or later. It’s nice they don’t mind.”

“Of course they don’t mind. They love you.” He tugs Robbie away so he can see his face. “You know, I didn’t get to give you your present earlier.”

“I thought we did that last night?”

“I mean your  _ anniversary _ present,” Sportacus says, and suppresses a fond smile at how pink Robbie’s neck turns at the reminder. “It’s been a whole year, Robbie mín.”

“I know. I, um, I got you something, too.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Sportacus assures him. “But can I go first?”

“Of course.”

Sportacus beams, and takes the little velvet pouch out of his vest. Robbie takes it, gives him a curious look before shaking the contents out into his hand. It’s a lapel pin, purple crystal with a gold-foil number ten embossed on it. Robbie stares down at the little pin on his palm, a frown creasing his brow. Sportacus wants to reach up and smooth away the worried lines there.

“Robbie?”

“This is…”

“It’s the symbol for my family,” he confirms. “I know that you still, um, that you still worry that I’ll leave. And I just wanted to give you something that, that makes it clear I’m in this for the long haul.” He folds Robbie’s hands around the pin, in between his own. “I’m not going anywhere, Robbie mín.”

Robbie stares down at their joined hands for a few more moments, and then snaps out of it. He sets the pin carefully into his lapel and then reaches into his waistcoat to take out an envelope, which he almost shoves into Sportacus’s hands.

“I, I don’t actually know what it says. Hopefully it’s something good.”

Now it’s Sportacus’s turn to give Robbie a curious look, because his name on the envelope is in his brother’s hand. He opens the envelope and takes out a yellow sheet of paper, written in elvish and adorned with doodles.

“It’s from my brother,” he says, and starts reading. It’s not a long message, and as he gets to the end his eyes widen. “He says he’s coming to visit after the new year!”

“Oh good, that’s what I was hoping it would say.”

“Robbie? Where did- why do you have this?”

“Because I’m the one that invited him- I sent my brothers to track him down, I wasn’t sure if it would work but-”

“Why?”

“Because you… said you missed him.”

Sportacus stares up at him for the barest beat of his heart, and then flings himself at Robbie with a startled laugh, clinging tight and kissing Robbie perhaps a bit more deeply than he should in public. He doesn’t care; he feels like he’s going to burst from how much he loves this man, this man who insists he’s only good at being rotten.

“I love you,” he says, and, “I love you, I love you so much,” is it even possible to be this in love?

“Um, I, I, um,” Robbie is shaking, “ _ Iloveyoutoo _ ,” face as red as the apples Sportacus loves so much. He tightens his arms around Sportacus’s waist. “And I’ve just remembered we’re in public and I’ve had about as much of today as I can take so I’m going to go home and you’ve got about five seconds to tell me to leave you here or you’re coming with me.”

Sportacus laughs, tightens his hold on the man in his arms. “Take me home, Robbie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have much to say here. I'm really glad I finished this and that it's officially complete.

**Author's Note:**

> Like this? Want to see more? I can be found over on Tumblr @grifalinas! Tell your friends! Reblog my work! Giggle with me over really stupid jokes!


End file.
